


Don't Tell Me Cause It Hurts

by RenaRoo



Series: RvB Angst War [8]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6127519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[RvB Angst War] After surgery, Donut's medication makes him far more truthful than anyone wanted him to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Tell Me Cause It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ephemeraltea (temporarily_obsessed)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporarily_obsessed/gifts).



> Prompt: ( @ephemeraltea ) angst war: a Donut on pain medication says things he doesn’t mean. he’s also far nastier than any of his cohorts would have ever dreamed, picking at all things they’re insecure about, the things they’ve never voiced… and Donut is very astute.
> 
> A/N: I have a big multichapter story in the works for Donut for the near future, but you sending me this prompt actually reminded me that I have not done a good job in recent months of shining some light on one of my favorite “sons” in the series. I very much look forward to this : )

In a weird way, Tucker figured if there was anyone who was going to have to have surgery after all the shit they went through, at least it was Donut. 

Anyone else may have made the whole affair unbearable. Not because they didn’t worry about Donut going under, but just because nothing ever kept Donut down. He was always coming back by the skin of his teeth – sometimes literally – and doing so with a smile.

So while they stood around his bed and joked around about the dangers of the procedure, there was an odd comfort Tucker took in seeing Donut on the other end of it all, laughing right along with them.

“It’ll be great,” he said, grinning broadly at them all. “We’ll see if these guys can finally finish me off.”

Grif rolled his eyes and Simmons groaned. Sarge made an unappreciative noise and crossed his arms but didn’t storm off as he would with the others making such remarks. Doc just shook his head as he checked over the charts. Lopez went to the corner to start charging with little regard to the others around. Carolina hardly paid attention as she flipped through a gossip rag from the pile Donut had sent to the room. Caboose just smiled cluelessly. 

Tucker laughed. _Because it was fucking funny._ But he was also the only one who noticed the tight frown Wash carried in response to the joke.

By the time the nurses were ushering them out, Tucker was tilting his head and staring at Wash with curiosity. 

Not needing much prompting, Wash crossed his arms and looked at Tucker. 

“Should we really be talking like that to him. They’re going to be working on his _heart,”_ Wash said. “I know you guys think the sky’s never going to fall down on you, but sometimes things _are_ serious.”

“Pfft, we don’t think the sky’s never going to fall down on us, Wash,” Tucker corrected with a flippant toss of his hand. “We just don’t think it’s ever going to fall on Donut. Do you know how many times he’s _died_ over the years? Tons. And he’s still doing fine.”

Wash only grew more uncomfortable looking. Which was a _feat_ in and of itself. “And don’t you think all of that bothers _him_ a lot more than he’s letting on?”

Tucker blinked in surprise at even the _thought_ of that question before shaking his head. “Nah, man… I mean. It’s _Donut.”_

Seeing he was getting nowhere, Washington finally seemed to drop the conversation, but Tucker could clearly see it was still bothering him. It made the aqua marine roll his eyes and try to drop it as well. Leave it to Wash, after all, to stew in his personal guilt and project it everywhere. 

Not everyone held grudges. 

Especially not Donut.

* * *

The doctors told Sarge how the surgery was going through a beeper, which gave the group the freedom to walk around the hospital waiting room, the cafeteria. They even walked the grounds a bit in smaller groups throughout the day. 

No one was surprised when the surgery was a complete success and that Donut pulled through without any further complications. The shrapnel from the wreck had been further from his heart than radiographs had initially shown. 

It was the best possible outcome, all things considering.

Tucker found himself more than once giving Washington a _told you so_ smug expression and leaving the Freelancer to roll his eyes in aggravation.

Everything was fine. 

And since the ICU was far stricter about visitation privileges – even with the planet’s heroes being the ones in concern – they decided to have small groups of taking shifts to watch over Donut through the night. 

The drugged him up to the gills and, unsurprisingly, Red Team was first watch. 

Wash and Tucker were set to go after Grif and Simmons, and it was bound to be late, well past Donut’s initial wakeup and possibly past him going to bed for the rest of the night. 

That was fine by Tucker. He and Donut tended to argue about celebrities when they were bored, and confident as Tucker might have been in Donut’s health, he had little interest in arguing with a hospitalized man who just had surgery on-or-around his heart. 

Washington didn’t seem to care much either with the danger officially clear. 

Everything was set.

* * *

When they get there, things were not set.

Wash noticed things were not in order first. He gave a bit of an awkward pause in his steps before examining the room. 

Simmons saw them, stood up, and bowed his head as he walked toward the exit. He was shaking it and making a long, drawn sigh. Which only made Wash and Tucker look at each other in confusion.

“Uh, Simmons?” Tucker whispered, not wanting to disturb Donut. “Where’s Grif?”

Simmons stopped between them, hesitating between stepping back into the room and carrying out the door without another word. His mouth opened and he looked toward Donut’s bed before snapping it closed and shaking his head. 

“The nurses say it’s… a bad reaction to the pain killers they tried,” Simmons said with a heavy look toward his teammate.

Tucker felt his heart drop. “What?” 

When it was apparent that both he and Wash were getting angry at this news, Simmons stopped bouncing between going and leaving long enough to hold up his hand. 

“No, no… he’s going to be fine,” Simmons replied. “He won’t even remember anything. Probably. It’s just…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s physically fine. It’s a psyche reaction. Just… tune out what he says.”

Washington stared at Simmons, not calmed by the information whatsoever.

Rather than upset, Tucker was confused. He looked back and forth. “What… I mean it’s _Donut._ What could he possibly say that we should ignore? We should record him being high as fuck for posterity.”

“It’s not _weird_ stuff,” Simmons corrected. “He’s saying… Well, he’s just rude. So just ignore it.” He looked off, muttering under his breath, “Try to anyway.”

Again, Tucker just could not understand what was being gotten across. “It’s Donut,” he repeated. “He doesn’t have a mean thing to say.”

To _that_ , Simmons gave a long, bitter laugh and shook his head before walking on out.

* * *

They sat in the little plastic chairs by Donut’s bed uneasily. 

Wash didn’t look much Tucker’s way, but Tucker had a good angle to see both Donut and Wash from. He was troubled by the fact that Grif and Simmons could be so bothered by the ravings of a drugged-to-the-gills Donut, but he was also concerned for the fact that with every passing moment, Wash seemed more resigned to this inevitable fate of _something._

 _“_ Would you get that look off your face?” Tucker demanded.

The Freelancer’s eyes turned on him for a moment then returned to Donut. “What look?”

“Like the world’s ending, we got past the whole world ending thing already,” Tucker said firmly. “That’s why we’re heroes.”

If Wash had anything of substance to say to that claim, it didn’t have the chance to be aired. 

Rather, the room grew horribly stilted and cold as a snickering came from the bed. It was harsh and biting, wheezing a bit as it slipped through the damaged half of Donut’s lips and cheek. 

Tucker looked at Donut warily, but still with some sense of relief. “Hey, buddy,” he said as he edged his seat forward. “What’s so funny?”

Donut’s eyes never fell to Tucker, there was a glassy look to them as he stared at the ceiling above his head. He smiled, broad and pointy just like before the surgery. “We’re heroes,” he repeated Tucker’s own words.

“Yeah, believe it or not,” Tucker said uneasily. 

“Tucker, let him go back to sleep,” Wash warned, sounding strained. 

“I don’t,” Donut said foggily.

Ignoring Wash, Tucker tilted his head. “You don’t _what_ , Donut?”

“Believe it,” Donut said. “We’re heroes. I don’t think so.”

The air grew tighter, and Tucker’s mind raced to process the nonsense Donut was saying. Beside him, Washington shifted and crossed his leg over his knee. 

“Of course we are,” Tucker said. “You’re just too doped up to remember all the good we did.”

Donut’s smirk stayed firm but his good eye turned on Tucker. It was glassy and watery but the spark behind it was full of fire. It made that pleasant smile Tucker loved from Donut seem sharper, _biting._

 _“Yeaahhhh,_ about that,” Donut said, his words all strangely cut short even in his sing-song voice. “You know, it’s kinda not so great when you remember how many bad things we did.”

Wash’s lips pressed to a small, thin line. He was biting back on any words, and Tucker kind of hated him for having the sort of foresight that Tucker himself perpetually lacked. 

“We made some mistakes,” Tucker agreed. “But it all worked out.”

Donut squinted. “Did it?”

“Yeah,” Tucker said firmly.

“Tucker,” Wash said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah, guess it did,” Donut said, smile still there. “ _Especially_ for Rogers and Cunningham.”

Almost immediately, Tucker felt his blood run cold. “What…” he began. He looked wildly toward Wash who was staring back with a carefully guarded expression. Tucker looked back at Donut. “I don’t…”

“I think it’s weird you feel worse about _them_  than you do for the innocent Feds you shot point blank. Especially in the canyon. We didn’t even really need to fight in the canyon but,” he paused and smiled more at Tucker. “ _Someone_ shot first.”

Tucker stared at Donut. Donut he fought together with in the desert. Donut who he and Kai could party and have fun with. Donut who was one of the first Reds that he would have ever considered a friend.

And his mind hung there for a moment, unable to fully accept the cruelty of Donut’s words because they were true and–

“Why?” Tucker asked before he could stop himself. “Why would you say that?”

There was a tired shrug from the patient, enough of one to jiggle the tubes and wires attached to him. “Guess I’m thinking it,” he responded in his cheerful, Donut way.

Baffled, Tucker sat back in his chair, feeling winded.

Washington remained silent, but in the lapse of Tucker giving Donut something to feed on, the Red turned his sights on him.

“Why are you even here?” Donut asked critically. “You tried to kill me.”

“I know,” Wash said almost too quietly.

“You almost _did_ kill me,” Donut said. He laughed. “I like everyone. I don’t think I ever liked you, though. You’re _not_ a very good person.”

There was no emotion on Wash’s face, still guarded with every muscle carefully pulled taut. But close as he was, Tucker could see the flex of Wash’s neck, the way his pulse was hard enough to see. 

“I know,” Wash said again.

Donut’s eyes danced around the room for a moment before he sunk back into his cot and began looking at the ceiling. “I think I’m tired again. Why are you keeping me up? That’s just… for meanies to do.”

“Yeah, go the fuck asleep, Donut,” Tucker growled despite himself, watching as the man’s eyelids grew heavy and dropped closed again whether by Donut’s design or not.

Speechless and dumbfounded, Tucker and Wash sat in their seats. 

Finding it hard to swallow, Tucker somehow still managed to look Wash’s way and ask, “Do you want to be Grif or can I be?”

“I don’t feel like moving,” Wash said honestly.

“Yeah… I don’t feel like doing much of anything either,” Tucker muttered back, looking to the floor.

Carolina and Caboose’s shift couldn’t get there sooner.


End file.
